Bidding On Her Boss. Rachel Bailey
that method wouldn’t help rehabilitate his image.
Which had led him to this moment. On stage in front of hundreds of people. Being sold.
“Five hundred and fifty,” the emcee said, pointing at a redhead near the side of the room, whose paddle said sixty-three.
Dylan threw Sixty-Three a wink, and then crossed to where a blonde woman held up her paddle. The emcee called, “Six hundred.”
Dylan squinted against the lights. There was something familiar about the blonde... Then it hit him and his gut clenched tight. It was Brittany Oliver, a local network weather girl. They’d been out two or three times a few years ago, but she’d been cloying. When he found out that she was already planning a future and children for them, he’d broken it off. He swallowed hard and sent up a prayer that someone outbid her. Maybe the cute redhead with paddle sixty-three.
He dug one hand in his pocket and flashed a charming smile at the audience—a smile he’d been using to effect since he was fourteen. He was rewarded when a stunning woman with long dark hair and coffee-colored skin raised her paddle. He was starting not to mind being on stage after all.
“Six fifty,” the emcee called. “Seven hundred dollars. Seven fifty.”
He knew Jenna was hoping for a big amount from this auction to get their charity started with a bang, so he took the rosebud from his buttonhole and threw it into the crowd. It was a cheesy move, but then the bidding happened so quickly that all of a sudden it hit two thousand.
Dylan steeled himself and looked over at Brittany, and sure enough, she was still in the running. He had no idea whether she’d want to chew his ear off for breaking things off or try to convince him they should get back together. Either way, it would be an uncomfortable evening. He should have had a backup plan—a signal to tell Jenna to bid whatever it took if things went awry. He could have reimbursed her later.
“Three thousand four hundred.”
It was the redhead. Dylan looked her over. Bright copper hair scraped into a curly ponytail on top of her head, cobalt blue halter top, dark eyes that were wide as she watched the other bidders, and a bottom lip caught between her teeth in concentration. She looked adorable. In his pocket where the audience couldn’t see, he crossed his fingers that she won. He could spend an enjoyable evening with her, a nice meal, maybe a drive to a moonlit lookout, maybe a movie.
“Four thousand six hundred.”
A flash bulb went off and he smiled, but he needed to get the bidding higher for the trust. He ambled over to the emcee and indicated with a tilt of his head that he had something to say. She covered the mic with her hand and lowered it.
“Make it three dates,” he said, his voice low.
Her eyebrows shot up, and then she nodded and raised the mic again. “I’ve just received information that the package up for auction now consists of three dates.”
Over the next few minutes, there was another flurry of raised paddles before the emcee finally said, “Going once, going twice, sold for eight thousand two hundred dollars.”
Dylan realized he’d stopped following the bidding and had no idea who’d won.
“Number sixty-three, you can meet Mr. Hawke at the side of the stage to make arrangements. Next we have a sports star who will need no introduction.” The emcee’s voice faded into the background as Dylan realized the cute redhead had made the top bid. He grinned.
Maybe turning his reputation around and doing his bit for charity wouldn’t be so bad after all.
* * *
Faith Crawford stood, adjusted the hem of her halter top over her black pants and slipped between the tables to where Dylan Hawke was waiting for her by the side of the stage.
Her belly fluttered like crazy but she steeled herself and, when she reached him, stuck out her hand.
“Hi, I’m Faith,” she said.
Dylan took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss on the back. “I’m Dylan, and, on behalf of my family, I appreciate your donation to the Hawke Brothers Trust.”
He gave her a slow smile and her insides melted, but she tried to ignore her body’s reaction. Her body didn’t realize that Dylan Hawke was a notorious charmer who had probably used that exact smile on countless women. Which was why her brain was in charge. Well, she thought as she looked into his twinkling green eyes, mostly in charge.
Dylan released her hand and straightened. “I have a few ideas about places we could go on our first date—”
Faith shook her head. “I know where I want to go.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Okay, then. I like a woman who knows what she wants.”
Oh, she knew exactly what she wanted. And it wasn’t Dylan Hawke, despite how good he looked in that tuxedo. It was what he could do for her career. She’d just made a large investment in her future—having bid most of her savings—and she wouldn’t let it go to waste.
He slid a pen out of an inside pocket of his jacket and grabbed a napkin from a nearby table. “Write down your address and I’ll pick you up. How does tomorrow night sound?”
The sooner the better. “Tomorrow is good. But instead of picking me up, I’d rather meet you. Let’s say in front of your Santa Monica store at seven?”
He grinned, but this time it wasn’t a charmer’s smile. It was genuine. She liked this one more—she could imagine getting into all sorts of mischief with the man wearing that grin.
“A woman of mystery,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “Nice. Okay, Faith Sixty-Three, I’ll meet you in front of the Santa Monica Hawke’s Blooms store at seven o’clock tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be there,” she said and then turned and walked along the edge of the room to the door, aware that several curious gazes followed her exit. Including Dylan Hawke’s. Which was just how she needed him—with his full attention focused on her.
Now all she had to do was keep her own attention soundly focused on her career, and not on getting into mischief with her date and his grin.
* * *
Dylan pulled his Porsche into the small parking lot in front of his Santa Monica store. He tried to get around to all thirty-two stores fairly regularly, but given that they were spread from San Francisco to San Diego, it didn’t happen as often as it used to, and he couldn’t remember exactly when he was last at this one. It looked good, though, and he knew the sales figures were in the top quarter of all the Hawke’s Blooms stores.
Movement near the door caught his attention. It was Faith. Her red hair gleamed in the window lights and bounced about her shoulders. She wore a halter-neck summer dress that was fitted in all the right places and flared out over her hips, down to her knees, showing shapely calves atop stylish heels. His pulse picked up speed as he stepped out of his car.
All he knew about this woman was that she liked halter tops, her hair could stop traffic, she was wealthy enough to have spare cash lying around to help out a new charity and her lips could set his blood humming. But damn if he didn’t want to know more.
“Evening, Faith,” he said, walking around and opening his passenger side door.
She didn’t take a step closer, just stood at the shop door looking adorable and said, “We won’t be needing your car tonight.”
He glanced around—the parking lot was empty. “You have a magic carpet tucked away somewhere?”
“No need,” she said brightly. “We’re already here.”
She dug into her bag and came out with a handful of keys looped together on what looked like plaited ribbons. As he watched in surprise, she stuck a key into the front door, and he heard a click. She stepped in, efficiently disabled the alarm and turned back